


Mutant House at Dead Kings College

by mabyn



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon Disabled Character, Erik Likes to Cook, Exes, M/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabyn/pseuds/mabyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to romance, Charles has terrible timing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutant House at Dead Kings College

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAssbenderWhisperer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAssbenderWhisperer/gifts).



> Dear giftee, thank you for sharing your wonderful prompts. I loved your idea for a forced housemates uni AU, and although I wasn’t able to incorporate all of your suggestions, I’m hoping this fulfills your idea of ex-boyfriends who accidentally end up living together and kind of hating it (at first). I tried to give you some protective, smitten!Erik as well. I hope you like it!
> 
> I totally was imagining the supercute [Alexandra Shipp](http://www.comicbookresources.com/imgsrv/imglib/400/0/1/4c7W58o9-cb36e.jpg) with a shaved head as Ororo in this fic. 
> 
> Warnings: a brief mention of Erik growing up in foster homes and Charles being alienated from his family.
> 
> Thank you to zaira for prereading and making crucial suggestions, alby & red for betaing, and mssdare & altie for support. You're all the best <3

Charles is delighted to be back at Dead Kings College for senior year.

He hoists himself out of the car and into his chair, then grabs his pack. The movers have already brought most of his things, so today he can arrange everything just how he likes it. He can spend the evening maybe getting to know his new housemates, who are sure to be awesome. 

If the accessibility of college housing — much of it built during the turn of the century — leaves much to be desired, at least Charles had priority to move into Mutant House, a fully accessible, off-campus option funded by the school with at least fifty students on the waiting list. 

Framed by maple trees with leaves already beginning to flame red and orange, the house is beautiful. So different from the old and venerable dorm he’d lived in at Oxford during his junior year abroad, the minimalistic lines of Mutant House give the effect of four, slate-colored boxes stacked on top of each other, slightly off-balance. It has a charm all its own. 

Charles ascends the ramp and is rooting around for his key when the front door swings open. That’s when he comes face to face with Erik Lehnsherr, who looks every bit as flabbergasted as Charles suddenly feels. 

“Charles!” 

“Erik? What are you doing here?” 

“I just moved in,” Erik says. His expression goes from confused to mildly irritated. “This _is_ Mutant House, and I am a mutant, you know, Charles.”

Charles contemplates getting back in the car, driving to the Campus Housing Office, and demanding a dorm room after all. 

Even in a simple black sweatshirt and jeans fitted with a studded belt, Erik looks good enough to make Charles’s heart flutter, but he’s just as jagged around the edges as Charles remembers. They’d argued in and out of class all during sophomore year until one particularly intense debate ended in a frantic, two a.m. makeout session on the couch in the lounge. Charles had more sex, and more amazing sex, in the heady month that followed than he’d had in his entire life combined. 

His plans to spend his junior year in Oxford, of course, put a swift end to all that.

“Yes, well, I live here now, too. So if you’d kindly — “

“You’re living _here_?”

“I’m a mutant, you know, Erik.” If his voice is tinged with the faintest trace of bitterness, Charles can’t be blamed. 

“Right,” says Erik, maneuvering past Charles down the stairs. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t get in your way. Between Hank, Ororo, and Logan, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of acolytes.”

Charles narrows his eyes, but he resists the bait. He’d been so looking forward to living here with other people like him, but now that it turns out Erik Lehnsherr — well, Charles has always had terrible timing. He permits himself to sneak a look at Erik barreling full throttle down the drive and towards campus, as intense about getting away from him as he is about everything else. It irritates Charles immensely. Then, as if he were the telepath, Erik glances back and catches Charles watching him. 

He has never been more grateful for the quiet and privacy of his room, which in other circumstances he would’ve been pleased to find is conveniently off the foyer on the main level and across from an elevator. Since Erik probably lives upstairs, Charles doubts he’ll require much use of it. 

After he gets himself off (just to ease the tension), Charles immediately begins looking for alternative living arrangements.

*

It turns out living with your ex isn’t easy.

Charles returns from class a few weeks later to run smack into Erik and some blond guy bounding down the stairs. 

Much as Charles has tried to avoid him, running into Erik is inevitable — they _live_ together: Erik dominating the kitchen, blasting some godawful metallic music and strewing ingredients everywhere like no one else might want to cook dinner. Erik marching through the living room wearing unnecessarily tight clothes while Charles tries to study. And now Erik flaunting his latest conquests right in front of him. 

“Pardon me,” Charles says, maneuvering out of the way. He tries not to inspect Erik’s new boytoy? boyfriend? too obviously, but he has an innocent face and full lips, and it’s impossible not to notice how cute he is. 

Seeing Erik with someone else shouldn’t unsettle him so much. It’s been a whole year, and he’d always expected Erik would date other guys — that was the whole point of breaking up before Oxford, wasn’t it? He hadn’t wanted to trap Erik in a long-distance relationship, but then, nor had he been prepared for how quickly Erik had agreed to “keep it simple.” 

“Our fault.” Erik’s face shifts from exuberant to stiff, almost embarrassed. There’s a spike in his emotions that he can’t quite block out as Erik swiftly glides past Charles to the door, the blond guy in tow. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” 

“Um… yeah. Okay. Alex, this is my housemate, Charles. Charles, this is Alex. He’s a first year, and a mutant.” 

“Awesome to meet you, man. What’s your mutation?” Alex asks with a bright smile, holding out his hand for Charles to shake. His voice is deeper than Charles expects it to be, and he’s so friendly Charles feels even worse. He’s mildly horrified Erik picked up a first year this early in the semester, but whatever. It’s none of his business.

“I’m a telepath.” 

“Cool. Did you guys meet in Mutant House?” 

Erik smiles almost fondly at Alex, a smile Charles distinctly recalls was once reserved for him alone. “We met in class a few years ago, actually, but fell out of touch when Charles studied abroad at Oxford. But as you can see, the universe has conspired to throw us together again.” 

Erik says “fell out of touch” like what happened was a natural, almost inevitable progression, when in fact after some awkward emails Erik had stopped his correspondence cold. If Charles dropped him from Facebook a few weeks later, it was only because Erik’s selfies made him so miserable. 

Seeing the occasional selfie is nothing compared to this. Suddenly Charles really wants to get away from them.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Alex. Welcome to Dead Kings.” 

“Thanks! Nice to meet you too, Charles,” Alex says, and Erik holds open the front door for him.

They don’t go far. Charles hears the creak of the porch swing outside as Erik and Alex settle down on it together, followed by their muffled voices. The sound of laughter curdles in Charles’s stomach. It turns out that having a front row seat to the show kind of sucks. 

It’s been a whole year, and despite how into Erik he’d been back then, he obviously doesn’t have feelings for Erik anymore. Still, seeing Erik all the time is hard. Maybe it’s stupid, but his short relationship with Erik was the most intense and important in his life. They didn’t always agree, but Erik really _got_ him, or he seemed to. Now it sort of hurts to see how easy it is for Erik to make other people feel that connection. Maybe what they’d shared wasn’t that special, after all.

If it weren’t for Hank, Logan, and Ororo, Charles would really go crazy.

*

Charles pats himself dry from the shower, transfers himself into his chair, and pulls the towel over his lap. He lingers as the steam relaxes muscles tight from a stressful week, and he savors the uncommon peacefulness of the house while Erik’s away at class. Usually Erik’s emotions run so high Charles can’t help but sense him upstairs, shuttling between euphoria and rage so fast it’s dizzying. Charles remembers a time when piggybacking on Erik’s intensity enthralled him, but now Charles mostly wants to forget Erik exists.

He’s feeling pretty good on the way back to his room when suddenly Erik crashes through the front door and nearly falls on top of him.

“Erik!” Charles’s hair drips onto his bare chest, but he suppresses the impulse to cover himself up. He knows his upper body is nothing to scoff at, and it’s not like Erik hasn’t seen it anyway (in fact he’s done a lot more than just _see_ it), but it still feels awkward. “What are you doing here?”

“Forgot my book for class.”

Erik’s face is flushed, probably from the sprint home, and he’s staring openly at Charles’s chest with a peculiar kind of absorption before his eyes dart away. He steps forward and then retreats again, reaching uncomfortably for the bannister of the stairs, then crosses his arms over his chest and stills.

God, this is so weird.

“Oh, yes. I thought I saw it on the kitchen table,” Charles says. The sooner Erik gets his book, the sooner Erik will leave.

“Right. I’m an idiot. I must have put it there while I was making coffee this morning.” 

“Would happen to anyone,” Charles says.

“Not to you.”

Probably not, but Charles waves him off. “I’m always doing stupid things.”

“You?” Erik says with a scoff. “No. You’re the smartest person at Dead Kings. Probably the smartest person I ever met in my life.”

“…Thanks.” Charles mostly believes Erik finds him a slightly irritating ex he’s forced to share the house with, so it comes as a surprise that Erik has anything positive to say about him at all. Erik seems caught off guard by his words, too; his mind is radiating embarrassment. Charles feels a corresponding flush of his own ignite his face and spread down his chest, which is, of course, on full display. Erik’s eyes scan him again and his mouth opens a little. 

This is the _worst._

Erik clears his throat, still not meeting his eyes. “Hey, listen, I’ve been wondering — “

A cheerful female voice cuts Erik off. “Ooh, sexy!”

This day simply could not get any more awkward. “Ugh, be real, Ororo.”

“What? You totally are.” She squeezes his arm muscle as if to prove her point, and Erik’s eyes narrow. “Almost ready?”

“Yes, just give me a minute.” 

Charles really wants to hear what Erik was going to say, but the moment is apparently over. Erik hurries past them, and almost as soon as he’s retrieved his book, he’s out the door.

“What was that all about?” Ororo asks conspiratorially.

“Nothing. Erik forgot his book.”

“That’s why you’re both blushing from head to toe and Erik gave me the death stare when I touched you?”

“What? That’s ridiculous — ” 

“Relax, Charles, I’m only teasing,” she says. “Mostly.”

*

Charles stops searching for another place.

It’s not because he’s getting along with Erik again or (god forbid) indulging in feelings for him. No. It’s that, well, the combination of accessible features and a pro-mutant environment has made living at Mutant House one of the best experiences of his undergrad career. Ororo, Hank, Logan — they’re great, and Charles hasn’t felt so grounded in years. 

So he’s going to stay, and if Erik doesn’t like it, then he can be the one to move out. 

“Sit with me,” says Ororo. Mutant House has occasional programming, and tonight they’ve brought Professor Kent to speak on microaggressions.

“Can you believe how many people showed up?” Charles transfers himself to the purple couch, and Ororo curls up against him. He puts his arm around her and rubs her shaved head. 

“I’m amazed Hank managed to find seats for everyone. And that lectern looks legit.” 

Charles tries not to notice Erik in the kitchen busily baking cookies and heating water for tea for the event. “Would it be weird to ask for an autograph? I brought my copy of _’I Didn’t Mean It That Way’: The New Toxic Campus_ just in case.” Erik carries a platter of cookies into the living room and sets it on a side table.

“Hm. Maybe you have a crush on him,” Ororo says.

Charles’s face heats. Erik steals a cookie and starts chatting with Alex, whom Charles still can’t bear to look at.

“Wouldn’t matter even if I did,” Charles says, so distracted by the skin revealed by Erik’s partially unbuttoned shirt that he loses his train of thought.

“I should hope not — “ She follows his gaze to Erik. “Oh… _oh_. No, I meant Professor Kent, you dork, not our housemate. I swear to god, the boner you guys have for each other is getting _really_ obvious.”

She pokes him under the arm, and Charles yelps and jerks away. His resistance only winds her up more, and she’s whispering in his ear what a Romeo he is and tickling him something awful, and he can’t quite prevent himself from giggling. 

When he can breathe again Charles notices Erik’s not paying any attention to whatever Janos is saying. Instead Erik’s staring at Charles, his forehead wrinkled and an attractive flush spreading down his throat. It reminds Charles of the tense way Erik looked at him with Ororo a few weeks ago in the hallway. The throb of mixed emotion that pounds against Charles’s mind despite his attempt to throw up his shields only proves the point.

Erik can’t be jealous of Ororo… can he?

The moment ends almost as soon as it began. Professor Kent is fiddling with the makeshift podium, and the crowd is grabbing the last of the cookies and settling down to listen. Erik crosses the room to the furthest point away from Charles and leans against the window, his arms folded over his chest. He doesn’t look back at him for the rest of the lecture.

“… I truly believe that baselines and mutants can stand together to build a more just world,” Kent concludes.

The room erupts into applause and excited chatter. Dammit. Charles had been so distracted by Erik’s stormy presence that he’d barely heard a word of what Kent said.

“Professor Kent will, uh, take questions now,” Hank says when people quiet. He pushes his glasses up higher on his nose. 

After a few innocuous comments, a girl stands up. “The registration program ended a long time ago, but we’re still talking about this. Now it’s almost like censorship the way baselines are afraid to say anything that might offend a mutant. I’m just wondering if maybe people are getting too sensitive. Isn’t there a way — ”

 _Here we go again,_ thinks Charles. This familiar debate is inevitable, but it’s part of the reason they scheduled the lecture in the first place. Charles is interested in how Kent will respond, but before he has a chance to, Erik jumps in, his voice barely staying even. 

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of privileged people turning this into a free speech issue. No one’s telling you you can’t voice your opinion, but come on, if you say something anti-mutant, I’m going to call you out on it. Telling us we should sit down and shut up while you spread hate and ignorance is practically a microaggression itself. If it were up to me — ”

“See?” The girl says, her voice rising. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. I try to share my honest feelings, and this guy jumps down my throat and and shuts down conversation with the ‘microaggression’ buzzword.”

Before Professor Kent can intervene, other students have joined the shouting match, and the tension in the room escalates. Charles might be imagining it, but the metal chairs seem to be vibrating lowly. His head starts to hurt.

“I think,” Charles calls out from the couch, projecting as much calmness over the room as he can manage, “we’re all here for the same reasons. We want to see a world where humans and mutants can continue to live side by side. Erik’s point is that challenging anti-mutant assumptions isn’t censorship — it’s discussion. In order to have dialogue, we all need to listen and respect the lived experiences of mutants.”

“Exactly,” Erik says.

The girl still looks peeved, but nods and keeps her peace. Someone else asks Kent another question. The discussion continues.

“Well done, Professor Xavier,” Ororo says in his ear. 

Erik watches him for the rest of the Q&A, glancing away guiltily whenever he’s caught. 

After, Charles waits for the room to clear. A few people linger, and Hank and Erik start packing up the spare chairs and returning the furniture to its usual layout. Charles gets his book signed by Professor Kent and congratulates the others on a successful turnout. 

He’s about to head back to his bedroom for the night when Erik stops him.

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

Charles waits, but Erik seems to be struggling with words, which is not like him at all. He’s projecting less defensiveness than usual, and Charles wonders what’s up. 

“Thanks. For jumping in there. I know we don’t always agree, but — thanks.”

Okay. Erik is actually being _nice_. It reminds Charles of how things used to be. His heart aches a bit at that, but whatever. The past is the past, and maybe he and Erik can just finally be… normal? 

“It was nothing. I didn’t want your original point to get lost in the shuffle.”

“Yeah well, I appreciate it. It helped.” Erik taps his toe against the wheel of Charles’s chair. “Night.”

“Good night, Erik.”

Charles tries not to think of Erik too much while he gets ready for bed, but it’s hard hearing Erik’s slow footsteps as he climbs the stairs followed by the soft closing on his bedroom door. He’s up there, nearby, so close Charles could reach out with his mind like he used to. 

It takes him a long time to get to sleep.

*

The chill in the air settles into permanent cold, and the last of the leaves clinging to the trees give up their hold and fall. To cope with the weather, Charles and his housemates string up white lights in the living room and crank up the heat. Everyone seems to be around more, too, bowing out of social obligations so they can stay warm inside under mounds of blankets. 

“That’s it, I’m done.” Ororo disentangles herself from Charles’s embrace on the purple couch, stretches, and yawns. It’s nearly midnight. 

They’re huddled in the living room playing chess and watching old movies. Even Erik has condescended to hang out with them, which seems like it should be weird, but it isn’t. Things have been easier since Professor Kent’s lecture. Erik spends more time at the house, and he’s gotten into the habit of knocking on Charles’s bedroom door before dinner to say hi and ask him about his day. 

“But we’re just getting started. Stay,” Charles says.

“Just getting started? It’s been four hours,” Ororo says. “I’ll puke if I have to endure one more chess game. You guys are obsessive.” She ruffles Charles’s hair.

Charles watches her stagger out of the room, wishing she wouldn’t leave. Their numbers are dwindling: Logan went to bed a while ago, and now it’s just him, Hank, and Erik. Charles is having such a good time he’s loath to call it a night. Besides, how many opportunities does he have to just stare at Erik’s face and watch this degree of earnest focus? 

“Checkmate,” Erik says at last, and Hank’s face crumples.

“Dammit.” Hank buries his face under his hands. “This is hopeless.”

Erik smiles lazily, relaxed now that the game has come to a conclusion and he’s emerged as the victor. “Want to try again?”

“I think I’ll spare myself the humiliation. Night, guys.”

After Hank goes, Erik pushes the chessboard closer to Charles. “Xavier? Don’t tell me you’re slowing down, too.”

Charles’s stomach summersaults, but he reminds himself it’s only Erik, his housemate. He smiles and scoots closer to the edge of the couch. “I can beat the pants off you any day.”

Erik grins.

They’re evenly matched, and it’s another hour before they’re even close to finishing. It gets so late Charles starts to nod off while Erik contemplates his moves, waking up only when Erik prods him with a finger for his turn.

“You’re looking rough. Finish tomorrow?” Erik finally asks. He gets up from where he’s squatting in front of the chess board and sits on the couch next to Charles.

“Nope. I’m good. I’m here.” Charles rubs his eyes and tries to focus on the board. Through the haze of sleepiness, he feels how closely Erik is sitting.

“Ok. I’m waiting.” Erik reclines onto his side and extends his long legs. The top of his head is almost in Charles’s lap, and if Charles so much as moves his arm, he’ll be touching Erik’s hair. It takes Charles longer than usual to move his queen because focusing on the game when Erik is stretched out next to him isn’t easy. 

It’s a good thing Charles is so fantastic at chess.

“Checkmate.”

Erik scrambles up onto his elbow. “Wait. What?”

“I crept up on you there.”

“Hey! How did you…?” Erik scratches his head. “I think you cheated.”

“Did not.”

“You used your mind powers on me. That’s why I can’t remember you rearranging the chessboard.”

“I did no such thing.” 

“Don’t lie, Charles. It’s so unsportsmanlike.” Erik prods him in the ribs.

“Hey!”

“Cheater.” Erik pokes him again, softer this time, but longer than strictly necessary.

The contact unsettles Charles. He remembers all too well what it felt like to hold Erik, how Erik’s lips felt on his skin, but he pushes those memories down. That’s all in the past, and that Erik is different from the one he lives with now. This Erik is only a guy who happens to live in Mutant House at the same time he does. This can be normal. He can do this. 

And at the moment, that requires getting some distance from Erik.

“Jeez. It’s two a.m.,” Charles says. He makes a production of checking the time on his phone.

“Oh my god. How did that even happen? I have class at eight.” Erik hastily scrambles to his feet, looking more than a little unnerved himself. “Thanks for the game. Even if you did cheat.”

“Play again tomorrow?”

“Yeah, okay.” Erik smiles at him, looking a little relieved.

So what if things don’t go back to the way they were a year ago? They’re almost friends again, and that’s all the matters.

*

Charles always dreads Thanksgiving break. The campus is deserted and everywhere there are reminders that he’s supposed to be grateful. Which, Charles has a lot to be grateful for. He wouldn’t be able to live the life he does if his family weren’t so wealthy, and even if the world has a long way to go, he’s lucky to live in a time when laws safeguard mutant and disability rights. 

But the thing that stands out to him the most every Thanksgiving is how alone he is. 

His mother and Kurt are in Europe, and Raven is visiting friends. So Charles tries hard to ignore the holiday and instead buries himself in his room binging on the old X-Files DVDs he checks out of the library. 

He has to emerge from his bedroom sometime to feed himself, and ramen seems like a good enough Thanksgiving meal. The sun has already gone down by the time he pulls his robe over his favorite plaid pajama set and gets himself into his chair. Despite the layers, he’s cold now that he’s out of bed, and when he gets into the hallway he cranks up the thermostat. Maybe it’s a little excessive since he’s the only beneficiary, but when it’s cold and dark and you’re horribly alone, well, you have to find your comforts where you can. 

That’s when he hears it: a crash followed by some rustling coming from the kitchen. He freezes, mentally scanning the house. Intruders sometimes take advantage of the holiday to break into student residences, and Charles curses himself for thinking it unnecessary to learn how to control other people’s minds.

But within moments the thoughts Charles picks up are familiar ones, and pleasant aromas of rosemary and thyme waft from the kitchen. A timer goes off and there’s a sound of a spoon banging against a metal pot. Erik. Charles didn’t know he was staying over break.

It makes sense. Erik’s biological family passed away when he was young, and he’s been in and out of foster homes all his life. Still, Charles is surprised he didn’t go home with Alex or his other friends. Or maybe — Erik is preparing a lot of food from the sound of it — he’s planning a dinner party? Charles scratches the scruff on his face and runs a hand through greasy hair — damn. He hadn’t bothered showering and he looks like somebody’s scruffy uncle. He can hide in his room until Erik’s finished, maybe eat that old granola bar buried in his desk, and wait it out —

“Charles?”

Erik appears at the entrance of the kitchen, stirring the contents of a bowl. He’s wearing an actual apron. “I thought I heard something.”

Charles glances back at his bedroom door. There’s no escape now, so Charles wheels himself toward the kitchen. “Erik, hi. I was just — “

“I assumed everyone had left. You must be hungry.” 

“I was just going to eat some ramen.”

“I cooked more than I can eat. It’d be a waste if you didn’t join me.”

Charles takes in the scene. There are mixing bowls strewn everywhere, scraps of peeled vegetables, and piles of discarded utensils. Next to the chaos of the counter, pots boil away neatly on the stove, and he can make out something cooking in the oven. An apple pie sits on the window sill. Hm. Erik’s proposal seems eminently reasonable. Charles wouldn’t want to waste food, and it does smell good. His stomach growls. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who celebrates Thanksgiving.” 

“Yes, well, you would be right. It’s a stupid holiday, if not an outright offensive one,” Erik says as he pops open the oven and peers inside, then closes it again with a shake of his head. “But unfortunately, I’ve always loved the food.”

“What are you making?” Charles asks. He accepts the glass of wine Erik offers him. It’s nothing fancy, poured from a big jug of red, but Charles finds he wants nothing better. He settles into his chair, warm again from the heat of the oven. He lets himself imagine what it would be like if this was his and Erik’s house, and tonight was a normal evening like any other, Erik cooking and chatting easily with him.

“Mashed potatoes, green beans, squash soup. Seemed crazy to do a whole turkey for just myself, so I found a recipe for baked turkey breast. I thought I’d eat the leftovers all break, but,” Erik shrugs, “this is better.”

Charles doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. His loneliness presses up against his mind most brightly during this time of year, and he guesses that’s true for Erik, as well. Charles understands that sometimes you’d prefer to share a holiday meal with anyone rather than be alone, even if it’s your ex, and he clamps down on that part of himself that wishes Erik would genuinely like to spend Thanksgiving with him because it’s _him_. They had their chance to be together; it hadn’t worked out. From what Charles has seen, most of the time love is that way: one person’s feelings are always stronger than the other’s. 

Erik refuses his offer of help, and soon there’s nothing to do but sit back and drink the wine Erik continues to ply him with. The spread Erik finally lays out on the table would impress even Charles’s notoriously difficult to please mother, and much to Erik’s horror, Charles can’t resist scooping out a sample of the mashed potatoes with his finger before they’re properly served. It tastes as good as it looks, everything does. When Erik claims he had no choice but to learn how to cook in the foster home, he’s underrating his ability tenfold. But then Erik is successful with everything he tries: school, campus politics, and (as Charles knows too well) chess. 

“So tell me, I’ve always been curious. Did you end up meeting any sexy, smart British guys when you went to Oxford, as you hoped?” Erik pops another green bean in his mouth and doesn’t quite make eye contact. His voice is light but Charles picks up on an undercurrent of something else.

“I didn’t go to Oxford for sexy British guys. I went to get a jump start on grad-level genetics.” Charles matches Erik’s conversational tone as well as he can. He has no idea what Erik is implying, or why he thinks Charles is so unserious a student.

“Really? That wasn’t the impression I had at the time. I mean, obviously I know what a huge nerd you are, but it seemed like you were excited about _all_ England had to offer. Which I totally understand, of course. So I was just wondering. You know, if you ended up — “

“No. Nor was I looking.”

“Oh. I’d thought—“ Confusion flickers across Erik’s face. “So you didn’t—? And now, you’re not—“

“Ah, not right at the moment.” Charles face flushes, and it’s not just from the wine. It’s embarrassing to admit that he hasn’t come close to hooking up with anyone else since Erik. Erik’s probably had dozens of guys, each hotter than the last. “But you’ve been seeing someone, right? Alex.”

“What?” Erik scoffs. “He’s straight. I’m part of a group that mentors first-year mutants. He’s kind of like my little brother, and he has a pretty cool mutation, so.”

“Oh.”

They both eat a lot of turkey.

The conversation returns to safer topics, and Charles restrains himself from admiring how attractive Erik is as he talks enthusiastically about the Mutant Studies major he’s been advocating for. Yet as the evening wears on, the combination of wine and good food leave Charles feeling warm and safe, and he finds himself forgetting to try. Erik’s grey eyes are lit with passion and crinkle at the edges when he laughs. He hasn’t bothered to do his hair. Charles quite likes the way it naturally falls into his eyes and has to fight the urge to run his fingers through it. 

He admits to himself that maybe, just maybe, all those old feelings haven’t quite gone away. They hadn’t broken up for any reason other than bad timing, had they? The truth is he’d never stopped liking Erik, despite how hurt he’d felt at Erik’s easy dismissal of their relationship, and Erik, well, he seems to like Charles well enough now, his eyes flickering more than once to Charles’s lips when he talks, his chair moving somehow closer to Charles’s as they eat, so that by the time Erik serves dessert they’re sitting so close together anyone might mistake them for a couple.

“This is a new recipe. Tell me what you think,” Erik says, offering him a forkful of apple pie. 

Charles isn’t sure whether to grab the fork himself or let Erik feed him, but Erik looks so earnest and hopeful that Charles laughs and opens his mouth, feeling like an idiot. It’s the right choice: Erik smiles brightly and gives him a taste of the pie, then anxiously watches for his reaction.

“It’s delicious,” Charles says before he’s done chewing. He’s not lying. The crust is crisp and buttery, and the apples are perfectly cooked, sweetened with brown sugar and delicately flavored with cinnamon and ginger. “More, please.”

Erik obliges and offers him another forkful. Charles takes the bite slowly this time, lingering to make sure he’s gotten every last bit. Erik gazes at him so intently Charles’s stomach flips.

“Your turn,” Charles manages to say. He scoops up some of the pie and holds it out to Erik. This is probably not something friends do with each other, but…. Erik started it and it’s only fair he return the favor. He wipes away a little bit of apple from the crease of Erik’s lip and licks his finger. “What do you think?”

“Better than I thought,” says Erik. He slides his arm around the back of Charles’s chair, and his face is incredibly close. His mouth spreads into that small, dimpling smile that usually means Erik’s starting to flirt. Maybe they’ve been flirting for a while now and Charles has been too stupid to notice. “More, please.”

“More?” It’s getting really hard to breathe, and Charles can’t quite bring himself to look Erik in the eyes, but Erik’s face is so close that he can’t look anywhere else. He’s all too aware of Erik’s fingers on his shoulder, scratching at the fabric of his shirt. 

“I always want more with you,” Erik says, his eyes now fixed on Charles’s lips, his head tilting to the side.

Oh. _Oh._

Erik’s lips taste like cinnamon and apples. The kiss is as unreal as the fantasy Charles has replayed a hundred times in his mind since he and Erik became housemates, but it’s familiar too, as if no time has passed between this moment and the heady days when they woke up every morning wound in each other’s arms. Erik smells just as darkly inviting as he always did, rosemary and wine from working in the kitchen and vaguely metallic. Erik brushes his thumb over Charles’s cheek, and Charles realizes he’s trembling.

“Hey,” Erik says when they come apart. He doesn’t sound flirtatious anymore, all serious.

“Yeah?” 

“Why did you end things back then? It kind of threw me.”

 _Charles_ break up with Erik? “It wasn’t like that, I just…I was going abroad for the entire year. How could I ask you to wait for me?” 

“I would have, you know. I would have waited for you. There’s no one else like you.”

It’s not what Charles expects to hear. Then again, none of this is what Charles expected. Erik’s eyes are round and dark, crinkled at the corners even though he’s not smiling. His face is wearier than it should be for someone his age. Charles is used to seeing that face closed off and shuttered, but his eyes search Charles’s now, hopeful and inviting. It’s the face Charles wants to look at everyday. 

“You could’ve told me — how was I supposed to know?”

Erik smiles. “You do read minds, Charles.”

“I _can_ read minds.” Charles pinches the bridge of his nose. He’d been especially careful to stay out of Erik’s head that day, wanting to give him the privacy to feel whatever he was feeling. Sometimes it’s like he’s a total dunce at picking up people’s emotions without his telepathy. 

But yeah, now that he thinks about it, the readiness with which Erik had agreed and his curt refusal to talk about it, which Charles had interpreted as eagerness to end things, maybe could’ve been a sign of something else. “I feel like an idiot.”

“You are an idiot,” Erik says with a fond smile.

“Thanks.” 

“I’m an idiot, too. It was stupid to think I could stay away from you.” 

Charles’s heart feels like it might burst, and Erik kisses him again. It’s sweet, as light and hesitant as the first one, but this time they don’t stop, and the kiss deepens until soon they’re both breathing hard and fast. It’s a little awkward to make out across their chairs, but the challenge doesn’t seem to deter Erik, who kisses a trail down Charles’s throat until he finds the spot that always makes Charles moan. That’s not the only thing he remembers, Charles realizes, as Erik slips his hand beneath the hem of Charles’s t-shirt. Charles tries not to make a fool of himself but it’s mostly a lost cause. It’s getting a little R-rated.

“Aren’t you worried someone will see us?” Charles manages to ask between kisses.

“We’re the only ones home.” Erik says without pausing in his efforts.

“But someone could come back—“

“I think what you really want,” Erik says with a grin, “is for me to take you to bed.”

“Well if you put it like that…”

Erik looks flushed and disheveled, his hair messy from Charles’s fingers. His shirt is twisted at the shoulders, and his pants are half-buttoned (Charles isn’t quite sure how _that_ happened). In short, he looks incredibly hot, and he’s smart and passionate and an amazing cook and basically everything Charles ever wanted in a boyfriend. Charles can’t believe he allowed himself to sit alone in his room nursing his wounds for so long when he could’ve spent that time kissing Erik instead. 

“I’m so glad this is happening, you know that?” Charles says. They might have a shot at this again, and for that he’s truly thankful.

“Me too.” Erik leans over to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. “Now if you don’t mind, I really want to get you naked.” 

Charles finds he has no argument for that. 

*

“It’s about time you got out of bed,” Ororo calls from the kitchen. 

The smell of eggs and bacon makes Charles’s stomach growl. Erik is still in bed sleeping, and he’d looked so sweet that Charles couldn’t bear to wake him up. They’d taken full advantage of the empty house for the last three days, but now the others are back from Thanksgiving break. Charles just hopes everyone will have cleared out by the time Erik gets up and won’t start asking nosy questions about why Erik slept in his room. 

That seems unlikely. Logan is draped comfortably over the couch reading a motorcycle magazine and Hank is sipping coffee at the dining table. 

Charles drifts into the kitchen. “Are you making any for me?” 

Ororo leans down and offers her cheek for a kiss. “I’m making some for whoever wants. How was your break?”

“Better than expected.”

They’ve only just sat down to eat breakfast when Erik bumbles out of Charles’s bedroom in an undershirt and boxers, his hair a mess, rubbing eyes that are barely open. When he spots Charles, he grins sleepily. “There you are.” 

Everyone stares. It’s not as graceful an announcement as Charles had hoped.

“Ohh, okay,” Logan says, nodding his head and pointing between Charles and Erik with a slice of bacon. “I get what’s going on here.”

Charles flushes. He and Erik haven’t actually discussed their status, and even though it seems like Erik was…definitely interested in maybe continuing this, whispering all kinds of things to him while they clung to each other in the darkness, Charles doesn’t want to assume anything. And anyway, whatever they decide to do, it’s none of anyone else’s business.

“Well, actually, Logan — “

“— That’s right. Charles and I got back together.”

They look at each other in surprise. Erik’s expression goes from pride to uncertainty, and Charles wishes he could disappear into the floor for his gaffe. He hastens to correct himself. 

“Yes. We’re together now,” Charles says with a firm nod, ignoring everyone else to look only at Erik, who smiles in relief. _And I’ve never been more happy, _he sends privately. They’re a couple again. Finally. Now Charles can fully admit to himself how much he liked Erik, so much that he never stopped missing him. No one else could ever measure up.__

__“I knew it!” says Ororo. “I _knew_ you two were hot for each other.” She’s grinning from ear to ear. Next to her, Hank looks like he’s been hit by a bulldozer. Logan, all interest lost, has returned to stuffing his face and guzzling the coffee._ _

__Charles reaches his arm toward Erik, and Erik comes to stand beside him. He rifles a hand through Charles’s hair. He’s all self-assurance and affection again, gazing down at Charles with the same adoring expression he wore last night. Charles doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of being looked at like that._ _

__“Is there any food left for me?” Erik asks._ _

__Charles tugs him down by his undershirt and kisses him on the lips right in front of everyone. “You’re just in time.”_ _


End file.
